She was pale and her expressive eyes were fixed upon Neale. Hough’s words startled her.
“What ails me?... Place, I’ve had a forgetful moment—a happy one—and I’m deathly sick!”
Ancliffe stared in surprise. He took her literally.
Beauty Stanton looked at Neale again. “Will you come to see me?” she asked, with sweet directness.
“Thank you—no,” replied Neale. He was annoyed. She had asked him that before, and he had coldly but courteously repelled what he thought were her advances. This time he was scarcely courteous.
The woman flushed. She appeared about to make a quick and passionate reply, in anger and wounded pride, but she controlled the impulse. She left the room with Ancliffe.
“Neale, do you know Stanton is infatuated with you?” asked Hough, thoughtfully.
“Nonsense!” replied Neale.
“She is, though. These women can’t fool me. I told you days ago I suspected that. Now I’ll gamble on it. And you know how I play my cards.”
“She saw me win a pile of money,” said Neale, with scorn.